


unfold

by desynchimminent (Caisar)



Series: asscreedevents 2018 [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Gen, Post-AC III, Pre-Slash, Tumblr: asscreedevents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-07 05:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caisar/pseuds/desynchimminent
Summary: Shaun knocks on Desmond's door with a wedding invitation.





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for asscreedevents, day 8 (free day) and a prompt by [emmaartdispencer](https://emmaartdispencer.tumblr.com), _Shaun, relay_.

The flat is on the fourth floor of a five-storey building, overlooking more of the same off-brown drab on one side and open space on the other—untouched as if no one cared enough to make something out of it. Hidden amongst the cluster is a park that could’ve been scenic if it weren’t so _dead_. He has no clue why Desmond would choose here of all places for his semi-permanent respite.

Then again, at this point, who knows why Desmond does _anything_?

He climbs the stairs on cramped legs—no elevator, no reason to expect one—and crosses the hallway, double-checking the numbers he passes just in case. There it is on the far side, a steel door that looks far sturdier than the walls around it, with a gleaming _17_ on top of the spyhole.

In front of the door, he pauses. Takes a deep breath.

Takes another.

See, he had imagined this scene before. _Had been_ , in truth, since finding out that their runaway messiah is alive—and not even _back from the dead_ alive; he’s _still living_ and doing so about five hours’ drive from their soon-to-be-last hideout. He’s still undecided on the greeting part—a punch feels more fitting than a hello, given the circumstances, but that edge of anger that’s been keeping him running disappeared somewhere between getting in and out of the car. All there’s left is the knots in his stomach and his heartbeat that he’s all too aware of.

He runs a hand down the front of his shirt, takes one last deep breath to steel himself and rings the doorbell.

Admittedly, between the isolation and the general neighbourhood, he had half expected to find Desmond going down the path of a caveman. Desmond, however, looks barely different than at the—than the last time they saw each other. Smaller than he remembered, perhaps, just this side of too thin, but still. It’s Desmond.

Huh. He really is alive.

“Shaun,” Desmond breathes.

Shaun gives him a cordial, resolute nod—a terrible clash with the way his treacherous heart is racing in his chest. “He—” Clears his throat. “Hello, Desmond.”

Desmond makes a sharp sound, a note of what could’ve been laughter, still taking in his form like he can’t quite believe his eyes. Shaun fixes his gaze at the sliver of room behind Desmond—a green, worn-down couch, a two-seat table next to the window and not much else—and lets him.

Desmond shakes his head then, seemingly to himself. “Sorry,” he says, still a touch incredulous. “I wasn’t—uh. You wanna come in?”

He waves a hand. “Oh, no, thank you. I don’t really have the time.” The truth, though sounds fake even to his own ears. He swallows the urge to explain himself to Desmond of all people and reaches into his inside pocket instead. No point in lingering, is there? “I just dropped by to—to give you this.”

Desmond frowns down at the envelope before reaching for it, turning it over. Rebecca’s bold lettering shines off the paper, spelling _DESMOND._ “What’s this?”

“A wedding invitation.”

Desmond stills, his—darker—hand tensing up around the expensive paper momentarily. The smile his lips curl into is… not one, really—not with the odd tightness in the corners. “Wedding invitation?” he asks politely.

“Yes. It’s—um.” He gestures feebly at it. “Just—just open it.”

Desmond does, carefully taking out the cream cardboard inside. Shaun doesn’t watch him worry his scar as he skims through it. “The girls are getting married?” he asks, glancing up at him as if for confirmation. When Shaun nods, his eyes fall back on the invite. “Huh. Didn’t even know they were together.”

“They were keeping it a secret, apparently,” he says, instead of _you could have_. “So as not to be a distraction, in Lucy’s words. We only found out after—” Right. Leaving the past where it belongs and all that. “Anyway.”

Desmond nods slowly. “Well, thanks for bringing this,” he says, tapping it against his palm. “You didn’t have to come all this way; could’ve just mailed me.”

“So that you could throw it away unopened?”

A better man would feel bad for taking a sick pleasure out of the guilt that crosses Desmond’s face, the way he won’t quite look him in the eye. Shaun isn’t that man. He’s fine with it.

“They’re expecting you,” he can’t help adding. “So if you won’t come, for the love of god, pick up the phone and tell them so. It’s their big day; don’t ruin it by making them hold onto false hope.” There’s been more than enough of that already.

“Okay,” Desmond mutters. It’s not convincing in the slightest.

Not his problem, though. He’s done what he promised to.

He clasps his hands, the sound carrying in the hallway. “Well, then. With that out of the way…”

Desmond jerks his head up, straightening against the doorframe. No, he really isn’t all that big. “You sure you don’t wanna come in? Ten minutes? I’ve got, uh—” He glances at something Shaun can’t see, rubbing the side of his neck. “Just leftover pizza, actually. But there’s a store nearby, I can pick up something, no problem.”

He doesn’t laugh in Desmond’s face, but it’s a close thing.

Desmond, for his part, takes the hint quickly enough. “Sorry,” he says on a chuckle that couldn’t have rang more hollowly, shaking his head. “Thanks again for coming. I—” He licks his lips, meeting his eyes for the first time. Shaun doesn’t want to see that same look on his face after everything—can’t look away. “It was really good to see you, Shaun.”

The worst part is, the bastard means it.

He nods his farewell. “Take care, Desmond.”

This wasn’t the plan. This… meeting—it was supposed to be his closure. He was supposed to walk away feeling vindicated, finally free of the weight in his chest—not like a kicked puppy. It didn’t go the way it was supposed to at all.

“Shaun?” Desmond calls out just as he reaches the stairs.

Against his better judgment, he turns.

Desmond is holding up the envelope, a tentative smile on his lips. “I’ll be there.”

 


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